dancers – were Sirens. I could usually get away with watching their arses more than my own for one simple reason: I was immune to their charms. Didn’t know why.
As I walked up, the usual doorman, Victor, eyed me suspiciously. He was a pit bull of a body guard, built like a muscleman from those old Bugs Bunny cartoons: round head, over-inflated torso and small legs. He was bald, neatly groomed with a goatee, and sported small, dark sunglasses.
Lorelei, the club owner, kept mouth-breathers like him around for added protection. Victor and his ilk were Gorgons, ignorant as shit but more faithful than some of the other protection Lorelei had used over the years – slimy, self-serving bastards like Bogeys or Imps.
“Swyftt?” Victor said.
“Been a while, mate. How’s the family?”
“I thought you musta finally got what was comin’ to ya. Ain’t seen you in so long…”
“I guess maybe I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Is she expecting you tonight?” His voice bubbled with hesitation and tension. He didn’t tend to like me. Liked me less when I was around his boss.
I shook my head, and he seemed to calm a little after I said, “I’m not here for Lorelei. I’m looking for someone else. I’m in and out.”
He pushed one thick finger against my chest and said, “You’re no good for her. I find out you’re lying to me….”
“Relax, mate, I’m just stopping in to have a word with Seven. He around tonight?”
Victor shrugged and said casually, “Yeah, he’s in there.” Then in a more menacing tone, he added, “You’re not gonna cause any trouble, right? Mate?”
“Me? When have I ever done that?” As I moved past him, I patted him on the shoulder, and marveled. His arm was as wide as a watermelon and just as solid. Fucking Gorgons.
As far as titty bars go, the Siren’s Song was something to behold. It wasn’t old and dumpy like The Hole out by the airport. It had a certain class to it, a style all its own. Sure, there were dried globs of cum under the tables like old gum, but the décor was impeccable, and everything from the polished white-gold fixtures and fancy blue and turquoise table linens to the bubble machines in the corners gave it the look of an under-the-sea prom theme.
As I entered the darkened room, my eyes were drawn immediately to the dancer on the center stage. Dressed as a Middle Eastern genie, she shook and writhed to an old Mötley Crüe song, worked the pole and the scant crowd as one. I took a stool at the bar, propped my elbows up on the counter, and turned to watch her turn upside down on the pole and mop her long, raven hair back and forth slowly. I was so fixed on her and her large, dark nipples, that for a moment, I didn’t notice the way the red spot lights throbbed up and down the length of the center runway stage to the billowy, pubic-black curtains of the back wall and the two other girls that danced on smaller, round, satellite stages of their own.
Glass bottles clattered together behind me, and I spun around to the bartender.
She was bent over, restocking beers in the drink cooler. I could see down the front of her shirt, and for a moment, that’s all that mattered. When I found her eyes, she’d been watching me, smiled. “What can I get you?”
As she stood, I couldn’t help but notice how the cold air from the cooler had teased her nipples erect. She winked at me, and I damn near melted right there.
“Any drink specials?” I asked.
“Half priced well drinks, 2-for-1 Seven and Sevens.”
Seven. Dammit. That’s right.
With some difficulty and a heavy sigh, I regained my composure and said, “On second thought, I better not. I’m actually looking for a friend.”
“Look around, sugar. We can all be your friends tonight,” came the well-practiced answer, and her voice was smooth and sticky like warm honey. She teased a lock of brown hair out of her dark eyes and pursed her seagreen lips. Her tight, tanned body reminded me how lonely
As I walked up, the usual doorman, Victor, eyed me suspiciously. He was a pit bull of a body guard, built like a muscleman from those old Bugs Bunny cartoons: round head, over-inflated torso and small legs. He was bald, neatly groomed with a goatee, and sported small, dark sunglasses.
Lorelei, the club owner, kept mouth-breathers like him around for added protection. Victor and his ilk were Gorgons, ignorant as shit but more faithful than some of the other protection Lorelei had used over the years – slimy, self-serving bastards like Bogeys or Imps.
“Swyftt?” Victor said.
“Been a while, mate. How’s the family?”
“I thought you musta finally got what was comin’ to ya. Ain’t seen you in so long…”
“I guess maybe I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Is she expecting you tonight?” His voice bubbled with hesitation and tension. He didn’t tend to like me. Liked me less when I was around his boss.
I shook my head, and he seemed to calm a little after I said, “I’m not here for Lorelei. I’m looking for someone else. I’m in and out.”
He pushed one thick finger against my chest and said, “You’re no good for her. I find out you’re lying to me….”
“Relax, mate, I’m just stopping in to have a word with Seven. He around tonight?”
Victor shrugged and said casually, “Yeah, he’s in there.” Then in a more menacing tone, he added, “You’re not gonna cause any trouble, right? Mate?”
“Me? When have I ever done that?” As I moved past him, I patted him on the shoulder, and marveled. His arm was as wide as a watermelon and just as solid. Fucking Gorgons.
As far as titty bars go, the Siren’s Song was something to behold. It wasn’t old and dumpy like The Hole out by the airport. It had a certain class to it, a style all its own. Sure, there were dried globs of cum under the tables like old gum, but the décor was impeccable, and everything from the polished white-gold fixtures and fancy blue and turquoise table linens to the bubble machines in the corners gave it the look of an under-the-sea prom theme.
As I entered the darkened room, my eyes were drawn immediately to the dancer on the center stage. Dressed as a Middle Eastern genie, she shook and writhed to an old Mötley Crüe song, worked the pole and the scant crowd as one. I took a stool at the bar, propped my elbows up on the counter, and turned to watch her turn upside down on the pole and mop her long, raven hair back and forth slowly. I was so fixed on her and her large, dark nipples, that for a moment, I didn’t notice the way the red spot lights throbbed up and down the length of the center runway stage to the billowy, pubic-black curtains of the back wall and the two other girls that danced on smaller, round, satellite stages of their own.
Glass bottles clattered together behind me, and I spun around to the bartender.
She was bent over, restocking beers in the drink cooler. I could see down the front of her shirt, and for a moment, that’s all that mattered. When I found her eyes, she’d been watching me, smiled. “What can I get you?”
As she stood, I couldn’t help but notice how the cold air from the cooler had teased her nipples erect. She winked at me, and I damn near melted right there.
“Any drink specials?” I asked.
“Half priced well drinks, 2-for-1 Seven and Sevens.”
Seven. Dammit. That’s right.
With some difficulty and a heavy sigh, I regained my composure and said, “On second thought, I better not. I’m actually looking for a friend.”
“Look around, sugar. We can all be your friends tonight,” came the well-practiced answer, and her voice was smooth and sticky like warm honey. She teased a lock of brown hair out of her dark eyes and pursed her seagreen lips. Her tight, tanned body reminded me how lonely
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